Past Demons
by NikitaKServensky
Summary: Why can't the past just stay the past? A young Christine escapes from her past, only to find a whole new experience in the Opera Garnier. Modern take on Phantom in my own way. Christine will have a very different background, so expect that there might be moments that she has a whole new personality than you are used to. She is also the Evalyn in the story, so don't get confused! :)
1. Thunder Storms

Chapter 1: Thunderstorms

**Journal entry 1: Great Britain 3:06 AM December 29th 2012**

**It's colder outside than I thought it would be. The train is an hour late and luckily hardly anyone's around; just a few people here and there. Max is currently lying on my lap trying to keep us both warm. He's still as beautiful as the day I first 'received' him, which was 3 years ago, as most German Shepard's he has a really thick coat which were both fortunate for. I still don't know where I am going just that Max and I need to get as far away as we possibly can. Once I read in the paper about an opera house in Paris, France. For about a year I trained as a violinist until my orchestra teacher resigned. It's a long shot but worth it.**

The whistle of the train sounded down the tracks, waking Max who leapt off the bench both he and his owner were occupying. She stood solemnly, legs ready to buckle beneath her, and took a deep breath as the train slowed to a standstill. Suitcase in hand she, followed closely by an alert Max, found her appropriate caboose and slid through the door, leaving her homeland behind.

**Journal entry 2: Paris France 9:45 PM January 3rd 2013**

**Six long days and Max and I have finally made it. I've tried to persuade myself to go audition or at least get a job as a cleaning maid. At any rate I should work as the help so I won't attract more attention to myself than needed. But I'm worried about Max he could get hurt or stolen and where would I keep him when I do leave for work? I'm so worried that something bad will happen and somehow I'll lose him. Then I think about the reason I left...But that is for another day. Max is getting just as restless as I so I better get going and find a temporary shelter for us both.**

She rose shadowed by Max who had lain next to her on his side. Thunder trundled in the distance and lightning slashed across the sky, causing the thunder to crash from its recent wound.

Max never liked storms and he soon became fidgety hanging close to her as they progressed on. She came to a halt at an open windowed women's clothes store admiring each skillfully tailored dresses of different colors, sizes and styles making her own ragged dress seem doleful. Which it really was with its dirt stains and wrinkles, she wasn't far from being a mirror image of a homeless person.

The lightning flashing caused the both to balk before speeding up for the same reason of fearing storms. They were a peculiar sight, slow-fast-slow-fast it seemed they couldn't decide to run or walk or just stop completely.

A dark building loomed ahead not too far from the two and once in front she felt her breath hitch in her throat. It was the Opera Garnier, the place she'd been looking for but also fearing. It struck her strange that after a day of searching she found it _now _when everyone's most likely gone.

From behind her she heard a strange foreign sound, like the deep rumble of the earth shifting. Then with trepidation she turned after realizing it was _Max _growling, not a normal growl either, a vicious snarl that was followed by a loud warning bark.

A man stood about six feet away, but with that distance she could smell the alcohol and cigars wafting off of him. Max smelled this too and they both felt memories, of their own experiences, coming back with full force. The man took a step forward but retreated when Max barked again. Then she saw him pull something strange out of his coat that glinted with the moonlight.

It took her mind some time to wrap around what he was doing till it was too late. The man came forward, Max lunged, and she intervened only to feel a sharp pain in her side.

Then…she does not know, the only sounds she heard was yelling, but from whom? There were multiple voices, all male, maybe two, she wasn't sure. Blood was gushing out and her weak efforts to slow it were having the negative effect of speeding it up.

The noise became louder but consisted mostly of Max barking, but she didn't hear the men anymore. Silence was what was left after Max had quieted. A cold wet nose brushed over her face and she closed her eyes, the life slowly leaving her…

But Max wasn't going to let her leave him, not like this, and if it meant allowing these strangers near his owner than he had no choice. Max lowered his head and strode towards the two who were making their way around the large dog who seemed to have no intentions of attacking them.

She felt herself being lifted into someone's arms but didn't have the strength or will power to fight back. However, she felt a sense of calm wash over her, just as the rain began to fall.

Like my other story I'm re-writing this one since I wasn't too happy with it, it seemed too predictable but I did use the same ending but I felt like this one was a little better.


	2. Chapter 2: A Recognition

Chapter 2: A Recognition

Something was up; she knew it but didn't know what. The air smelled of…perfume? Since when did ally's smell like that? Then she remembered last night; tried to sit up, couldn't. Too weak.

"I see you're finely awake. It certainly took some time, but I knew you would eventually come through." She turned towards the voice; a woman around fifty, slender, with curly blond hair and green eyes was standing near the bed she was laying on. So, this was who saved her? She could have sworn it was a man…

"Tell me my dear, what is your name?"

"C-' She almost said her real name and if it weren't for her many hours of reading the next name wouldn't have crossed her mind 'Evalyn Thompson."

The blond-haired woman looked suspicious but told Evalyn in a gentle voice with a kind smile, "And I'm Isabelle Smith."

"Were you the one who saved me?"

Isabelle laughed and shook her head, "No, that was my husband, Charles, and son, Adair. But I did help out though, I patched up your wound which was pretty bad there and you did lose a substantial amount of blood. I hope you don't find this offensive but I had to change you out of the clothes you were wearing."

It did shock Evalyn but she realized it was only out of kindness, "No, I don't find that offensive at all. B-but where exactly am I?"

"The Opera Garnier, my husband is actually the manager here." Evalyn was even more stunned about this and gaped at Isabelle for some time before she came back to reality.

Isabelle did notice this though and with motherly concern pressed the back of her hand on Evalyn's forehead. "Well I don't feel a fever, no warmth either. Tell me, Evalyn, have you been sick these past few days?" Evalyn shook her head 'no'.

"Then it must have happened a few nights ago sometime around the 'incident'."

Isabelle's words sank in a few moments after and Evalyn asked, "How long have I been out?"

"Four days."

Evalyn was dreading the answer and now she was sweating, but not from fever or sickness, but fear. "W-where's Max,' seeing Isabelle's blank stare, Evalyn became more anxious. 'My dog, Max, the large German Shepard, light brown, with a black snout, and dark brown eyes; where is he?"

Evalyn almost sat up were it not for the tug of the stitches and the pain that shot through her. "Shhh, just calm down dear, he is perfectly fine. He wasn't hurt during the scuffle and now he's in another room but is being taken good care of."

Relief flooded over Evalyn but there was still that doubt that shadowed it and she still didn't know whether to believe her. A sharp twinge in her abdomen caused Evalyn to wince and groan.

Isabelle turned away, opened box containing medical supplies, returned and held a syringe full of fluid.

"What is that?" Evalyn squeaked and for once she did not care if there was fear in her voice. Isabelle quieted her by speaking softly explaining that it was only something that would put her out for at least an hour so that she could change the stitches, and that it is better if she were asleep while that was happening. Still wary but willing if it was to just dissolve the pain, which had become exceedingly worse, she allowed Isabelle to slip the sleeve of her nightgown up and inject the antibiotic. Slowly Evalyn drifted off, dreaming of nothing for once.

* * *

><p>A FEW HOURS LATER EVALYN jerked awake, freezing cold air blasting at her skin. That may have only lasted a few seconds, maybe ten at the most, but it was enough to make her tremble. Then she realized the Persian covers she was wrapped under before she had fallen asleep had slid off the bed to the floor. There was a window open; the curtains were flowing with the wind that was blowing with a loud whistling sound.<p>

She was alone; Isabelle must have left not too long ago since there was a steaming cup of tea on the bed-side table. Tea was not Evalyn's favorite but now she needed something to heat her up. Sitting up was a challenge of its own and Evalyn contemplated how she was to even walk. The feel of the warm cup helped ebb the chill and the first drink satisfactorily slid down her throat in a cozy like balminess.

With chattering teeth she pulled the cover over her, wincing at the, meager as it is, pain in her abdomen. Evalyn knew she wasn't going to be able to fall asleep due to the window but she had no idea where or how to contact Isabelle. Acutely aware of the flash of white that fogged her vision Evalyn slowly slipped off the bed on to the cool wooden floor. The sound of her bare feet on the ground was masked by the shrill of the wind that ceased when the window was shut.

As fast as she could Evalyn scuffled to the bed, ignoring the boom of her heart as the pain reached its climax at becoming almost blindingly insufferable. She collapsed on the bed and pulled the thin covers around her body, falling asleep instantly.

* * *

><p><em>THE WHISTLING OF THE WIND, thunder booming, lighting flashing, and shadows dancing along the beige walls gave the impression of an orchestra raging in a reckless, treacherous ballet. Loud as it was, Evalyn wasn't able to hear it over her frantic heartbeat as she ran through the dark passages of a distant time. <em>

_Finally she reached her destination, her and Rose's room. She didn't know if she was too late. But she couldn't think like that, not now, not ever. Her sister needed her. Hinges creaking loudly, the door edged open. The room was lit only by the lightning, casting a light around the room for a few seconds. Hand along the wall Evalyn moved forward, but halted in the middle of the room. _

_The sight before her was too much. Evalyn fell to her knees. She was too late, she failed her. She failed Rose. Before her was her sisters limp body, blood oozing out of a stab wound. Rose's face was contorted in fear, her mouth open in a silent scream. Her brown eyes were lifeless as she unknowingly stared back at Evalyn; once flowing, silken auburn hair was tangled from a hard grip from a cold, uncaring hand. _

_A groan of the unsettled floor boards caused Evalyn to turn; her drunken father was standing behind her, bloody knife in hand. His eyes were blood-shot, dark hair sticking out on all sides, greasy from many days of neglect. A crooked, mocking smirk played at his lips, "Poor, sad, little Rose. Such a shame, don't you think? This could have been avoided. You just wouldn't listen, let alone be able to follow the family trait. Looks like you'll just have to join her." _

_He then plunged the knife, with her sister's delicate blood covering it, into Evalyn, and her and her sister's blood mended together._

* * *

><p>"Ms. Thompson! Wake up, it's fine!" Evalyn sat up quickly; hand raised in a weak defense but soon she lowered it seeing Isabelle standing next to the bed, eyes full of concern. Evalyn stared at her lap; those last words her father said- following the family trait, you should have listened, and the rest, he never even said any of that...She felt more confused than ever.<p>

Neither of them spoke for a long time till the silence was broken by a knock at the door. Isabelle stated, "That's probably Charles or Adair. Come in."

They both held themselves proudly; Evalyn could tell clearly that the tall skinny man with gray hair, wise brown eyes and obvious wrinkles on his forehead was Charles. Adair obtained his looks from both his parents; his hair was a light brown, like his father who has a few strands left, and his eyes were an odd mix between the both, brown with green specs. They both smiled pleasantly, before Charles stepped forward.

"Good to see you are better. My dear wife here was terribly worried. Allow me to introduce myself: I am Charles Smith and this is my son-"

Adair had come forward quickly, took a hold of Evalyn's hand, in the process cutting his father off, and planted a kiss on her hand gingerly, "And his son, Adair Smith."

Evalyn sat dumb struck before she smiled and replied, "And I'm Evalyn Thompson."

His smile turned into a large grin but fell when his father cleared his throat. Adair was now at a more proper distance, next to Charles. Evalyn held back a grateful sigh; he was nice but that was a little _too _close.

"Now that we have introductions done with, let's get down to business"

Charles and everyone else froze when a loud scream echoed through the halls. "I'll be right back." But Charles had no time to even take a foot towards the door when it suddenly flew wide open, almost hitting him.

A bewildered looking maid was standing there panting, brown hair sticking on ends. It took her a full moment to collect her breath before, "There….there is something in that old Prima Donna room! It sounds like a wild animal! Don't stand there; go get it!" It was at that moment that she ran out, going the opposite way from where she had come.

Adair's, more reservedly followed by Charles, silence soon turned into laughter. Evalyn and Isabelle just watched them with wide eyes as if they were mad. _Just what have I stumbled into? _Evalyn thought as Adair and Charles wiped tears from their eyes.

"Excuse me, but what was that about?" Isabelle questioned Charles who merely grinned but his grin soon fell at his wife's obvious frown.

Charles stumbled on his words before Adair, who was not deterred by his mother's hard gaze, said for him, "The 'wild animal' she was speaking of was, in truth, our little miss Evalyn's dog." It was visible that he was trying to suppress a laugh, but it eventually died away at his mother's disapproving glare.

Isabelle sighed, shook her head then said, "Well, I don't even _want _to know what you two thought were so humorous about such a thing."

It was now that Evalyn decided to speak, "And where exactly is this Prima Donna room?"

All eyes turned towards Evalyn who averted her gaze to her lap. She concluded that they were so wrapped up in their own little happenings that they had momentarily forgotten she was there.

"It's down the hall, at the end." Answered Charles who was a little slower-witted then the rest on detecting the hidden meaning in what Evalyn was implying.

Isabelle laid a hand on Evalyn's before stating to her husband, "Dear, why don't you go get the dog. He might be more…nicer if he's around Evalyn." Charles looked doubtful, but abided to his wife's wishes and he and Adair were soon off. "Now to go get your dog wasn't the only reason I sent them off,' she sat on the edge of the twin bed and the action caused Evalyn look up at her. 'I've, I don't know about the other two, but seen a resemblance in you of someone I saw in a newspaper."

During the time Isabelle spoke Evalyn felt her heart drop. Someone _has _recognized her. Evalyn remained silent.

Isabelle squeezed Evalyn's hand, "You don't have to tell me. Just know that you're safe here, I won't question you about it anymore and that you can tell me anything if you ever need to and I won't judge nor will anything you tell me will never reach another's ear or knowledge."

As Isabelle finished the door was once again thrown open only this time a large, brown-eyed, German Shepard sprinted in and leaped on the bed. Evalyn wrapped her arms around Max's furry neck, murmuring soft words in a loving but inaudible tone. Max was whining happily, cleaning Evalyn's face with kisses.

Evalyn pulled back some but held a tight grip on Max who had calmed down slightly. Isabelle was giving Charles a 'I told you so' look yet he wasn't even giving so much a glance in her direction. It was Adair who spoke, "It's like a whole new dog. What's his name?"

"Max." Adair smiled and asked more questions about him which Evalyn supplied. Finally, Isabelle said it was getting late, almost ten, and Evalyn would need her rest. "We'll be back in the morning dear, you can keep Max with you and there's a maid right next to this room who will hear you if you call." Isabelle planted a small kiss on Evalyn's forehead and soon the trio left.

The exertion of even sitting up like she had been for the past twenty minutes or so was beginning to have a toll on Evalyn and she and Max were soon asleep in a matter of seconds.

Not much is happening but I wanted to make this more believable than I had first had it. Now for any of you who are wondering: there is going to be No, as far as I know, romantic feelings between Evalyn and Adair, more of a friendly acquaintance.


	3. Chapter 3: Brushing It Off

Chapter 3: Brushing It Off.

Disclaimer: I claim no rights over Phantom of the Opera. I also do not claim to own anything affiliated with Tomb Raider.

The opera house turned out more beautiful than Evalyn could have imagined. In all honesty, she loved the resplendent golden fixtures that were everywhere she turned, but the candelabras with the modern lights were her least favourite. The marble floors were polished to the point she could almost see her reflection. People seemed constantly doing _something_; what they did, Evalyn didn't know. Sadly, this first outing from that pint-sized room didn't lead toward the stage, which was a place she might have held some interest in.

Instead, her destination ended at the manager's office, where she followed Charles and Adair. The room wasn't much bigger than the one she left, but more square in its construction. A pastel tan comprised the walls, along with paintings, the desk, chairs, and small sofa were a dark mahogany, and scattered papers covered desk as well as the most peculiar sight she ever saw: An envelope with a blood-red skull seal that popped out against all the brash white.

Upon reaching the desk and taking her seat on the opposite side of Charles and Adair, she noted something important: The two men seemed to have become pale; their faces were a mere mockery of that fine colour white of the note which Charles now held in his shaking grasp. Charles forced a smile when he glanced at her, seeing her suspicious expression. Finding an envelope knife, he opened it and slid the note out. The handwriting, from what little she saw, was also written in red and in childish scribbles. A slight fan-girl feeling came over her after seeing that, but she brushed it off. _This is NOT some fantasy Evalyn Thompson! _She scolded herself.

Charles eyes concentrated completely on the words in front of him while Adair hovered behind him. Finally, he lowered it, and both relaxed. _Clearly it turned out good…whatever it was they had read. _

Charles cleared his throat, "You were wishing to know of openings for the company, am I right?" Evalyn nodded, not missing Adair's rushed copying of what appeared to be a list from the note. _They're hiding something. _

Adair, once done, handed Evalyn the paper he'd been scribbling on. "These are all the job openings we have available now."

This is what it read:

**Maid,**

**Chef,**

**Chorus or lead singer,**

**Dancer,**

**Bassoonist,**

**Violinist,**

**Cellist**

Evalyn considered her options: singing and playing the violin and cello interested her, but applying for a maid seemed the easier option. At the moment, she couldn't afford lessons, anyway. She was a relatively good cook, but it typically (meaning 99.999% of the time) involved the use of a microwave. Dancing was a no, as well as bassoon player-she didn't feel like tripping everywhere, and she liked _hearing _wind instruments, not actually playing them.

Raising her eyes, she said with decision, "I'll take the job as the maid."

Charles scrunched his eyebrows, and Adair replied in a voice of disbelief, "But wouldn't you prefer the violin player? You came in with one."

Evalyn shook her head, "I haven't played in a long while, and I didn't know much about music or playing then, so I would need lessons, which I can't afford, especially since I'm going to insist you take off four weeks of pay off, or at least half it, because that's how much of your time I've taken up. Considering all the doctor visits" Charles cut her off.

"Mademoiselle, we did that on our own accord. We expect you not to pay it back."

Evalyn smiled, "I suspected that, Monsieur. Nonetheless, until I have some money saved, I won't be able to possibly afford any lessons of the sort if I want a creditable teacher."

They both nodded, and Charles handed Evalyn a paper and pen. "Fill this out, please. It is just basic information about your history and detailing how the opera house runs for those who live here. I'm going to allow you to turn that in tomorrow morning at twelve. Adair here will take you to your room."

Leaving the room with Adair after thanking both men, Evalyn felt excitement bubbling inside her. In mere minuets she'll be living in an opera house! It didn't matter that she her job was a maid, only that she was just _there_. She was so excited that she didn't see father and son exchange a glance. Sometime after they had walked, Adair spoke in a curiously grave tone, "There isn't any rooms available in the maid's quarters and every room possible to live in is occupied except for a really old Prima Donna room. We constructed the new room only a few years ago since the singer said she didn't feel safe,' Adair stopped walking and turned to Evalyn; any of his boyish features he might have had left him and now held an utmost serious expression, 'Now, we have checked that room top to bottom, and have found absolutely nothing wrong with it. We've had people who…specialize in certain things come in and check it out, and they've deemed it safe as well."

Evalyn began to feel fear creep up inside her; whatever he was implying didn't sound too good, "What did the people specialize in?"

His eyes shifted away, then back to hers, as if he felt abasement, "Ghosts," He finally forced out.

She blinked, "Ghosts?"

He nodded, "Yes, paranormal…Here at the opera, we have what became known as 'The Phantom of the Opera'. You know, like the musical?' Evalyn knew all too well, which is, if she was honest with herself, why she came to this opera house in particular 'Well, the demands are exactly the same, except, of course, the francs are now euros. We had the old Prima Donna room meticulously searched through top to bottom-we even took down the old mirror to see if there was a tunnel, which there wasn't. The mediums didn't detect any spirits or the like. So the room is perfectly safe and you have nothing to worry about, I assure you."

"But, if you're so certain it's secure, why would you be telling me this?"

Adair shrugged, "Gossip is a big thing here, and you'd eventually hear something. It's better if I tell you now than for you to get all worked up over nothing."

Evalyn nodded, "If you don't mind me asking, how long has this been going on?"

"Since we bought this building ten years ago. The managers before us owned it longer, but after a scene shifter died after falling to his death, mysterious things began happening not long after that. The notes, for example. After a year, they couldn't take all the demands."

"But why, and don't take this the wrong way, have you allowed it to go on for so long?" Adair motioned for Evalyn to follow him to a more secluded area where they could talk without being heard. They each sat at a small couch in the hallway opposite from each other.

He began again, "At first, we contacted a private investigator. He left after the first two weeks without reason. After that, my father decided to contact the police. He was unsuccessful, since there was nothing they could do about the notes, and until the sender acted upon his threats, there was hardly anything to worry about.'

Adair glanced off to the side now, seemingly unaware of his surroundings, 'However, the _sender, _otherwise known as O.G., wasn't reticent on his coercions. The first threat had been 'tragedy will come your way'. And it did, big time. A worker here at the opera sustained a leg break after falling down the stairs. He claimed 'a ghastly figure in funeral clothes' pushed him or some non-sense. After that, props before our first performance were destroyed and we had to cancel. When we brought a police officer in, him and my father were standing on the stage when a noose fell right at their feet and the officer fell dead. The coroner stated he had a heart attack, but we all knew better. So, we did two things: Had the cellars under the opera completely searched, but nothing was found and had mediums come in."

Evalyn interjected, "And you suspected it haunted because of that man's death? "

Adair nodded, finally looking at her. His eyes seemed to have become much darker before and lost their youthful shine. Her heart swelled with sympathy. He continued, "We sent them to every square inch of the opera, but absolutely no signs of it being haunted were found. And so, with the police too frightened to do anything and not having any leads to finding who was sending the letters, we eventually acquiesced to _its _demands. The opera house became almost placid the day after, though the occasional prank, missing prop, sightings of a man, things one would see with a ghost, I suppose, still happened and continue to happen."

He rose from his seat and Evalyn did the same; around them, the air turned cold and a feeling of uneasiness fell upon her, and it was a sensation she never truly felt before and therefore couldn't place a finger on what it was. These new revelations both surprised and scared her. She hadn't actually thought the place would be _haunted_, though she doubted that it really was. Something more sinister was happening here than simply that; something tangible. Instantly her mind thought of Max. "Is Max in my room?" She did want to know about Max, but also wanted to drop that horrible subject.

Beginning to walk again, Adair replied, "Yes, him and all your belongings." As they walked, he began to change into that Adair she first met, and he seemed to forget about all they had previously discussed. However, Evalyn still felt nervous. Brushing it aside, she engendered herself to believe it was from the tale.

It wasn't long until they reached the room. They parted and Evalyn unlocked the door with her key, and instantly upon seeing the room, she understood why they were suspicious about it. It was almost exactly like in the movie, even the large vanity and mirror, save for there being a bed now to the right of the door, a window, and the flowery walls, which were now replaced by a plain white colour. Oh, and another difference being a large German Shepard who almost literally knocked over Evalyn upon seeing her enter.

"Hello there handsome...Hold on, let me shut the door!" Evalyn laughed while she closed and locked the door. Picking up the papers that fell from her hand, she walked over to the small Victorian-like couch off to the right and sat down, instantly being kissed/sniffed to death by a very hyper Max. Finally standing, she told him, "You know, I've only been gone, what, an hour?" He wagged his tail excitedly and she laughed again.

The agitation she had felt had been forgotten and she studied the room, her eyes stopping at the bed. On it was her suitcase and her violin case; both rested on the bed neatly, with no fear of them falling off. Evalyn wished she could thank the person who brought them for being so thoughtful. Walking over, she unzipped her luggage. By this point, she had only worn her nightgown and one pair of pants and an elbow length shirt, the latter being what she was wearing now. She only brought with her five changes of clothes, not including her night-shift. All were basically the same design, the shirts reaching her wrists or her elbow, and the pants were black. To finish it off, she had her regular elegant black boots that zipped up the side.

Eventually, Evalyn would need to buy more clothes. Glimpsing over at Max, her hands on her hips, she also knew she would need to buy him dog food, a food and water dish, flea medicine (he was already digging up a storm), and many other things she knew he would need. She let out an aggravated sigh once she realized another fact: _she _would have to eat, too. Already, her total was possibly over a hundred dollars.

Shaking her head, she just thanked God for where she was now. Hearing a playful growl, she looked towards Max who was rolling around, a huge grin on his face. Glancing up toward the ceiling, she mouthed another 'thank-you', this time for the fur ball who was undoubtedly the best thing she ever had.

* * *

><p>IT WAS NOW FOUR IN the afternoon, five hours since she last saw the managers. Since then, she put the little clothes she had in the dresser and closet, had her bathroom supplies taken to their proper places, made sure her violin was in good condition, which she was glad it was, placed it under her bed, and found Max a squeaky toy that she forgot she had packed.<p>

Now she sat at the large vanity, looking over the papers Charles gave her. Already, she was thanking God again. Food was paid for. There was one thanks. A washer and dryer room was located in the opera house, free of charge. If one had a pet, food was provided. All that she had to pay was a monthly fee of ten dollars. Again, more thanks. From past experiences, she knew dog food could range from twenty to thirty dollars. Leaning back in her seat, she sighed contentedly before she had to actually fill in her profile.

That was where she was most concerned. Granted, her religion has made her past easier to swallow, but there were still shaky parts that almost caused her to fall from the tremors of pain. More importantly, she wasn't entirely certain all loose ends were tied when she started anew. Shaking her head, Evalyn picked up her pen and read the first question.

**Name-Evalyn Thompson**

It was simple enough, but when she came to the part where it asked for her date of birth, Evalyn decided it was best to not say she was fifteen, but eighteen. Lying was a reprehensible thing to do, and she prayed to God for forgiveness. The rest she filled in easily.

* * *

><p>EVALYN SIGHED; THERE WAS ABSOLUTELY nothing to do. Venturing off to look around the opera house was out of the question, since her becoming lost was very plausible. And from what she saw earlier on her way to her new room, the opera's halls were not very placid. Rolling on her side, scooting an obdurate Max out of her way, Evalyn rose from the bed and retrieved her violin from underneath.<p>

Kneeling on the floor, she unzipped the instruments case. Ensconced in its bedding and covert by a red and wrinkled rag rested the red-wooded instrument. Removing the rag, she felt that same love-hate relationship for this fine piece of wood. She treasured that this very violin created seraphic sounds countless times by her mother, but she abhorred the idea that her mother's marriage hampered her career as a violinist. But Evalyn was tangent.

Once assembled, she plucked each string, tuning them as she normally did. But today she had rosined her bow. Why, she didn't have clue, only that she felt like playing. Placing it into playing position, the coolness of the chin rest was foreign, but also welcoming. Raising her bow, she steadied her hand. She played a few scales as a warm up. Feeling a little daring, she tried a three octave C Major scale which ended with the highest note on the violin on the E string. At the end, she cringed. Until the last three notes her playing had been spotless. Looking over at Max, she defended herself, saying, "I used to be able to play that." Max, however, still looked unconvinced and hopped off the bed and trotted over to the couch.

With her eyebrow raised, she shook her head, "Of course, the first to hear me play _and _be my critic is my dog. What a life." Feeling even more audacious, she attempted a shot at the solo she had performed with her school orchestra when she was the principal player. It was from the video game _Tomb Raider, _that's release date had been in 2011. The piece's title was "Alone", but the name didn't hold much importance to Evalyn, just the notes. At first, she momentarily forgot it all together, but the melody was still fresh in her mind, and it soon came to her. Playing it after all this time brought many memories back, and, as she became more comfortable with it, she tried to become the role. She tried to imagine, though she never actually played the game, the main character's, Lara Croft, feelings of torment and utter helplessness and then produce them through her playing.

After a while, Evalyn lowered the instrument. It was such a relief to finally play again, but she still knew she was a bit rusty after such a long period of inactivity. She removed the shoulder rest, snapped the violin back in place, cleaned the strings off, made sure everything was secure, and placed the case under the bed.

Glimpsing at the digital clock by her bed, Evalyn saw it was five till nine. Just seeing the time made her tired, as she usually was in bed by eight, so she shuffled to the closet and changed into her night-shift. Distinguishing the lights, Evalyn slid under her covers. Her eyes went wide, and she sat up. "Blasted." She mumbled, realizing she didn't brush her teeth, let alone take out her contacts, which were already causing her eyes to water. Again, she forced a very stubborn Max out of her way, and then she finally went to the lavatory. After that done, she stumbled back to the bed, since she was practically blind without her contacts. On her bedside table was a pair of glasses that she kept as a backup in the event she ever lost or ran out of contacts. Now, comfortable in bed, Evalyn cuddled up to Max half asleep when a quick rush of cold air passed over her. Disquiet consumed her languid senses, but she brushed it off. _It's just_ _a draft. _

Later events, however, will cause her wish she had been more alert.

Long time, right? I had been thinking to hold off on finishing this until I had my other story finished, but when AkatsukiMercy1515 (Who I give many thanks to!) started following this story, I got my will to right this again, so here you go! And, please, tell me what you think! 


	4. Chapter 4: Didn't Notice

Chapter 4: Didn't notice

Disclaimer: I do not own the Phantom of the Opera.

_My mother, Susana, loved painting and it was from that passion that we made the majority of our money. My father worked at a low-paying, yet high in benefits, job as a chef at a small restaurant. My mother's art was out of this world: one of her paintings could easily sell at over five thousand dollars. And these purchases happened multiple times a month, so our monthly income quadrupled the minute amount of my father's job. As I walked through the desolate yet lively halls of our home, I wondered why my father even had a job-we could easily live off my mother's remuneration. But then I smiled as I remembered what he told us, me and my younger sister, Rose, not too long ago: "A marriage is a team, so we both have to contribute somehow." Then he kissed my very appreciative mother, causing both us girls, ages seven and eight, to cry out "gross!" and run away. _

_Hearing voices down the hall in my father's office, my smile vanished when I perceived a voice I did not recognize: a male's voice. I found him being here strange. We never had many visitors here, just family. It wasn't due to my parents being anti-social, because they were quite the opposite. They had many friends, but none ever came over, for reasons I wasn't too sure of. I stopped just before I was in front of the wide open door and bit my lip, my small hands of an eight year old ringing together. I contemplated whether to continue the way I had been and risk being seen by my father and his friend or just turn around. But I had a dilemma: my room, my previous destination, was past my father's study. However, the thought of my father, upon seeing me, call me in to meet his guest, had my nerves in a bundle. As an eight year old, I was an extreme introvert. It wasn't that I _didn't _like people. It was rather the opposite. I just was bad at conversations. _

_Turning back was appealing, but the new doll house in my room was far more interesting. Sucking in a breath, I drew up enough courage to move forward. The second I made my first step my father shouted my name. Slowly glancing to my right, I caught sight of the most peculiar looking man I had ever seen. He wore a white mask on the left side of his face. Slightly ruffled, his raven black hair was slicked back. Light was his complexion, yet it contrasted greatly against the starkness of his impeccable mask. The strength in his jaw was unmistakable; the fullness of his lips implicated gentleness, strictness, and sensuality all in one. He wore all black, which accented his lean, tall frame. His gray-blue eyes meticulously studied me, sliding once down my frame, then back to my wide eyes with almost intimidating amusement and unusual intentions. Even at that age, I observed something odd about the way he stared at me. It was not sexually, just…not right…not normal. _

_"Are you just going to stand there, Christine, or are you going to come greet our guest?" My father asked, rising to stand with the man who I now saw to be taller than my six-foot father. He was more than menacing to my tiny self, and it took a lot of courage to finally walk towards him. As I came closer, he kneeled, halting me in my place. Still he was far too tall to even be at eye level with me. He lent a hand to me, and I tentatively gave him mine. It wasn't rough, like I expected it to be, instead being soft and surprisingly ice-cold; it enveloped mine completely. His warm lips covering the top of my hand shocked me, and I, being only eight, didn't understand the meaning of why he did such a thing. When he rose he did not let go of my hand. _

_"You were right, Richard. She is very beautiful." My father smiled proudly, unaware of the almost possessive way the man held my hand. When I attempted to tug my hand away from his, my father still did not notice the man tightening his grip in very painful way. I held back my discomfort, though. My heart beat quickened when my father shut the door behind him, leaving the room, stating he needed to go see what my mother wanted after she had called for him from in her studio. _

_Once alone with me, the man effortlessly hoisted me into his arms, pressing me against his side whilst still holding my hand with his free one. Letting go of my hand, he stroked my cheek with his knuckles. I stared into his eyes with pure astonishment. His shone back with adoration, pleasure, and some form of arrogance that I promptly knew I did not like. _

_"Put me down." The longer my father was away, the more restless I grew with the way this man both looked and held me. I knew it wasn't right. _

_He actually smiled for the first time since I saw him. And in that gorgeous voice with an obvious French accent of his he said, "You are too adorable, my love. I cannot wait to see you grow into the beautiful young woman who I know you will be one day." However, at my small, pathetic pushes at his strong chest, he relented with a laugh and set me on my feet. Again he held my hand. _

_At about that time, my father came back in and went behind his desk, sitting at his seat. He motioned for the man to sit, and when he did he brought me onto his lap. I became stiff. My father still didn't notice. _

_"So, Richard, "The man began, "you said you had a business matter to discuss?" I instantly became interested. What did my father have to do with such a man? _

_My father nodded, "Yes. You said you were interested in promoting my wife's artwork? Well, she said she would be willing, but only if you have a reasonable price negotiation." _

_Despite the fact I kept my view diverted anywhere but his way, I knew the man was looking at me again as he said, "Yes, I think she would find my price very negotiable…I want to train your daughter, Christine, to sing." My eyes went wide and I instantaneously averted my attention to the man. _

_My father seemed as shocked as I. "Are you sure of that, Erik? We would gladly be willing to give you some form of payment for your troubles-" _

_Erik held his hand in the air, now looking back at my father, "No, no, Richard. Your daughter has talent that I just cannot allow to go to waste. Simply molding her voice to the perfection I know it can be would be enough satisfaction for me." _

_My father looked a little confused, but then smiled, "I suppose you, being a composer, could only understand such a thing." He then cast his kind eyes to me, "Would you like Mr. Destler to teach you, Christine?" _

_Hastily I jumped out of Erik's grip and shouted a no loud enough to cause my father to jerk in his seat with surprise. Even as my father shouted my name I did not stop running until I made it to my room, where I slammed my door shut as hard as an eight year old could do. I never heard from Mr. Destler again, but was certainly punished by my parents for my 'rude' behavior by my new doll house being confiscated._

* * *

><p>Christine contemplated the events while sitting in her bed, petting Max and holding a still unopened note in her hand. In reality, she would not have even remembered it had she not caught a glimpse, or thought she did, of the man, Erik, of so long ago. Not long after seeing him did she find this letter on her bedside table after she returned from work. And now at eleven at night, one hour since leaving her job at ten and returning immediately to her room, she still couldn't work up the courage to see what the note said, let alone who it was from.<p>

She still felt that fear when she saw him. It was only for a fraction of a second, yet all those deeply buried memories broke free from their confines with full force in a thrashing wind. Those cold hands once again touched her cheek and held her hand. Those burning eyes burned into her with that same intensity. And that voice consumed her for the first time completely by one simple word: _"Christine."_

It shivered past her ear like a soft wind. She could feel his breath against her skin as he said it. Absent mindlessly, Christine blew out a soft breath as she remembered how her hands had shaken while she locked the door of the laundry room, the place she worked, and kept her blue eyes in front of her, never daring to even search for the man of the voice she knew was not there. _He just simply couldn't be here. _If Christine thought otherwise, her entire being would shatter beyond repair.

When she was eight, Erik had scared her for a reason, not just because of his odd mask. She understood that he was not nice like her father. There was something wrong with Mr. Destler, and she knew it was about her because of the way he acted towards her. But at the time she didn't understand, though now she had only a small idea. And she didn't like it one bit.

Christine brushed her long, blond hair away from her face. She moved Max and rose from her seated position. Placing the letter on the drawer by her bed, she decided to wait to read it. _I need to be mentally prepared for something like that. _

Quickly changing into her nighttime attire, brushing her teeth, and removing her contacts, Christine slid under her warm covers and promptly fell asleep.

* * *

><p>THE NEXT MORNING AT WORK, Christine found it hard to readjust to her new name, Evalyn. When she needed a reminder she simply glanced at her name tag.<p>

The job was fairly simple. Take the clothes from the customers, wash, dry, then fold and return them when the people came back. Not many people came, anyway. Only three did the day before, and, two hours in her job which began at ten am, Christine had had no customers what so ever. She was very glad today was Saturday, which meant her shift ended at one pm. Leaving her room was nerve-wracking, both for fear she would see Erik again and for Max. _If he left the note in my room, then he had to have encountered Max somehow. _Max was a very alert dog, so she knew the slightest out-of-place sound would arouse him from even his deepest sleep.

One o'clock finally came and Christine couldn't be happier. Closing the small door and locking it behind her, Christine turned around and collided into a wall. Falling on her backside, she looked up in surprise-proximately it switched to fear.

Standing in front of her was the very man she had hoped to avoid: Erik Destler. Age had been very kind to him. When she last saw him, she had guessed him to be in his early to mid-twenties. Yet he remained youthful, as she could see. His attire endured the same, too. And, of course, the white mask was no different from the two formers that she noticed.

He lent a hand to her. This time, Christine refused, hoping to bide time until someone came by. She drew her knees to her chest; his visible eyebrow rose in amusement, but his face remained otherwise stoic. Time crept slowly by and he finally said, "Are you just going to sit there, _Christine, _or are you going to greet me?" His voice was laced with sarcasm and it sent shivers through Christine.

"What do you want?" She finally questioned, rising from her position. She decided she was not going to allow him to intimidate her. Now she was a grown woman, not an eight year old.

His eyes boring down at her, he brought his hand near her face, but then instead reached for her hand and gripped it with same possessiveness of long ago. As when she was a little girl, his hand hid hers fully. "To take what is mine."

Christine gulped and whispered, fearing and knowing the answer, "Which is?"

Erik smiled in a queer yet amused way, "You." Christine shut her eyes tight, wishing she didn't notice the sincerity in his voice. A second later, the coldness of his hand disappeared and Christine opened her eyes to see him gone.

Instantly Christine rushed to her room, ignoring the stares she received. Throwing the door open behind her, she slammed it shut, and now, actually being able to reach the lock, unlike when she was eight, locked her door. She reached for the envelope and ripped it open.

_Dear Christine, _

_Oh how I have missed seeing you so near…seven years is a long, long time, even at my age. I allowed you that defiance of so long ago, because I realized you were far too young for me and my music. But now you will learn to obey my every word, or face the consequences. I will be seeing you again, tonight, promptly at midnight. _

_Yours,_

_Erik_

Well, I decided to leave you at this simply because I feared that, if I continued, it would become a whole mess of words and there would be no meaning to it. Anyway, I hope you liked the twist and I thank all my readers for their continued support.


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